


Petit Morceau

by ShugendoRites



Category: Amnesia: The Dark Descent
Genre: Biting, Cannabilism, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Gore, Implied Non-Consensual Drug Use, Implied Relationships, Insanity, Intoxication, Kidnapping, Physical Abuse, Some serious Ship Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShugendoRites/pseuds/ShugendoRites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basile Giroux wakes to find himself in unknown surroundings after spending a seemingly pleasant evening with Justine. </p>
<p>He is not alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petit Morceau

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ReverseAlchemist of DeviantART](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ReverseAlchemist+of+DeviantART).



Calais, France  
1858

 

_"Basile?"_

  
_She stood before him, sitting atop the banister. Lovely Justine, with her arms crossed behind her, hands intertwined, looking at him. Her dark eyes were playful. In wait._  
 _Basile Giroux crossed the few feet it took to reach her. But, he did so with deliberation, as always. It had become pure habit with them, every night now. And each night led to a new game, a new sense of ecstasy to explore._  
 _She smiled, and he could feel his lips spreading in return. His callused fingers made their way up to stroke her face..._

  
  
Basile opened his eyes, his senses only beginning to return. His hand was outstretched, grasping at air. Instead of the pleasant feel of familiar flesh, he only saw the stone chamber surrounding him.

His eyes widened and he pushed himself up from the flat... What the hell was he lying on?

Confused eyes beheld a stone altar beneath him. A vague sense of irritation filled him. As he looked down at himself, he realized he was utterly nude.

Ah, so it was another game then.

_I don't recall this._

Where is Justine? Last night... was it last night? Basile looked around himself. What hour is it?

Basile stopped the moment he registered what type of room he was viewing. Dimly lit by a single candle, it first appeared to be a dungeon of some sort. Unable to process this, he merely blinked. His gaze wandered all around the room, seeking answers he could understand.

The two tables before him bore burning tallow candles, the very smoke from which made his eyes water and throat tingle irritably. Briefly, he cursed and swiped at his eyes until it was bearable. He turned his head and saw that there was an open door to his left. Yes, this was a cell alright, but he was not caged in it. Bewildering to be sure, but then, waking up in odd places seemed to be a pinnacle point in his trysts with the Florbelle heiress. Nothing was suspect here. Or out of the ordinary... aside from his failed recollections of the night before.

_Justine_ , Basile thought as he kneaded his pounding forehead, _What is this?_

A few feet from the altar, sat another little desk. A small sheet of parchment sat atop it. A note from his amour, perhaps. Basile gazed blearily at it before moving his feet to the stone floor. It chilled his toes and in turn made the young carpenter shudder. He rose to his feet, then tottered and fell as his vision swam, blurring everything.

_In a dungeon, and shit-faced drunk as well! What happened with us last night?_

It seemed his legs had lost the ability to move. Yet, with a good deal of struggle, Basile managed to pull himself to his hands in knees. His face coloured as he remained in that undignified position. A vague unease had begun to settle over him. His insides had begun to curl with nausea, and he quickly turned his head to retch. Small spurts of stomach acid, and a faint taste of wine were all that came up. His lips burned. The heaving continued for a few moments afterwards.

It finally subsided, only to leave the man quaking from the effects. Basile lifted a shaking hand to wipe off the sweat beading at his brows, and sliding down his nose. Never had he been so hungover as to experience that. His work had never allowed it. Not to say that he didn't enjoy imbibing every once in a while, but this... no.

He recalled Justine teasing him on that very principal of his. That he could be so debauched in some of his other activities, but he would not risk getting drunk while constructing for his employers.

"A carpenter's work is never done, is that it?" Justine had laughed at her jest. Ironically, he had been drunk then as well, and found that her comment had irritated him in a way he couldn't name. That irritation had grown into fury and Basile actually had slapped her for it.

Idly, he realized his hands still could feel the blow they had connected, and he would never forget the sound her head had made against the floor as she fell. Guilt had not come until later, and even then it was slight and easily shrugged off.

She had known what she was getting into when ever she called on him, after all. Such was their reality of their time together. After she recovered, Justine had claimed that it was that behavior that was the reason for their trysts. That it was the very reason he fascinated her. Then, it had been his turn to be the one that laughed.

But the way she said it...

Basile shoved his thoughts away, and slowly rose to his feet. Relief filled him, as he seemed steady enough. "Good." He said aloud, his voice sounding cracked and frail. Clearing his throat swiftly, he tried again."Good." Better.

Trembling a bit, he made his way to the parchment. He lifted it carefully, and soon realized it was far too dim to read the words. Basile looked to the table, that was filled with unlit candles, but not a tinderbox in sight. Damn.

He gingerly walked over to the the door and peered outside. The hallway beyond was filled with torches. Without hesitating he made his way over to the nearest. Holding up the parchment, he began to read.

Travesty at the conservatory...

"Malo?" Basile questioned, his memory flickered as he read the article. But, he already knew every word. Malo's de Vigny's last performance had been hashed over by French reporters for weeks after the fiasco. The night itself was unforgettable.

* * *

 

Even with the lights dimmed, the conservatory was quite impressive. Vaulted ceilings of carved wood greeted his sight. Basile elbowed through the masses of nobles, earning himself some curses and surprised cries. However, his focus was on the staircase ahead, and who it lead to.

He could see Justine's outline from here, sitting in one of the seats... along with Alois Racine. As he reached the top, the blonde man turned his head and saw him. A look of disgust covered the young Racine's face. Irritation filled Basile, but he knew it was only to be expected. Apparently, Justine had not alerted Alois to the fact of his attendance.

Basile grinned.

Justine turned to him and offered a easy smile. Basile eyed her in her dress, and did not find her lacking. Alois had gotten up, and seemed to be waiting for him. His arms were crossed.

Basile attempted to smile at him, but all Alois received was a bearing of teeth. Quickly, the slighter man backed away, causing the carpenter some confusion.

"What are you doing here?" Alois then spat, still keeping his distance.

Basile beheld the young Racine with as much contempt as he received.Thin, blond, and pompous, these were the terms that defined Alois Racine, in his eyes. It was resentment, borne of his natural hatred for any man of the upper class. The carpenter did not know the man for his history, or from his childhood. All he knew was that Alois had never needed to work hard in his life, and probably never would. That was excuse enough.

Basile opened his mouth to curse the shorter man, but Justine motioned for them both to sit down.  
"It's starting..." She murmured, eyeing the territorial men thoughtfully.

Basile walked forwards, and took Alois's former seat, ignoring the sputtered sound of rage that came forth afterwards. But, soon Alois's resignedly took the next seat opposite of her, foregoing a pointless argument.

"Why didn't you tell me he would be here?!" Alois was heard whispering, and Basile hid another of his smirks behind a brawny hand.

Below them, Malo de Vigny walked onstage.

If that could be called walking. Malo tottered on the stage like he was a sailor on a storm beset ship. But, that was not all. His clothes were wrinkled and seemed to hang on him. When he finally reached the front of the stage, he lifted his violin, and clumsily sat it upon his shoulder. It slipped several times before Malo managed to keep it there. Silence hung over the crowd, but it was awkward rather than expectant. Basile noticed Alois shifting in impatience.

Justine hadn't moved.

Even from here, Malo's gaze was utterly vacant, and his eyebrows joined as puzzled by something. He raised the bow, fingers trembling. Then he began to play.

It could not even be called music. Basile winced as the bow slid gracelessly up and down the strings. The screeching that issued forth was an assault on the ears. Alois looked appalled.

Justine was smiling.

Basile stared at her as the "music" continued. His concerns over this became irrelevant as he grew aware of the audience.  
First, a discontented muttering came from various parts of the crowd. As Malo continued playing his abomination, they grew angry.

Basile quickly stood up, jostling Justine slightly. He didn't bother apologizing, and instead went to Alois."Get up." he ordered, and grabbed Alois's arm. He began walking to the end of the row, and found himself dragging the racquet player.

"What are you doing?!" Came the high pitched cry from behind. Basile continued dragging him forwards, towards the stage.  
"We need to get that idiot off the stage, before there's a mob." Basile gestured at Malo, who now was screaming incoherantly back at the crowd.

And then it happened. Malo dropped his violin and tossed the bow flippantly, at one of the complaining patrons. Their was a surprised silence, and then the audience was in an uproar. Basile began running for the stage, and was relieved when Alois followed in turn.

In seconds, they reached the stage, and Basile seized the yelling Malo's shoulders. Malo froze and turned to him, eyes wide with green-coloured shock. Alois quickly enclosed his hand around Malo's wrist and they both began pulling Malo to the exits.  
The crowd was yelling after them. Malo tore from their grip and turned back to the crowd.

He toppled and fell to the ground. Laughter pealed from the gathered nobles.

Basile ran several oaths through his mind. None were good enough for the current predicament. Alois's face was flushed. Most likely in embarassment, as there must have been many who recognized him.

Oh well.

Basile quickly grabbed Malo by his collar and hauled him to his feet. "L-let go." The man managed weakly. Malo did not have the means to fight him it seemed, and stumbled as he was lead offstage.

They exited swiftly and Alois hailed a coach. They were all silent as Basile aided Malo into it.

There seemed to be nothing to say to the man who had single-handedly destroyed his own career.

* * *

 

Basile was silent in his memories as he continued to walk. A torch from the hallway was in his hand, lighting his way. But, he was not thinking of his surroundings.

Five months had passed and he had not seen Malo after that night. Justine had told him and Alois that she would have nothing more to do with the musician after such a performance. He had not questioned it, nor pitied the musician. All it had meant was that there was one less in the competion for Mademoiselle Florbelle's hand.

Nor had he been sorry to see the man go. An uneasy mixture of arrogance and shyness, Malo seemed nothing more than a spoiled scholar. A talented pet of his rich family.

Though now, Basile truly wondered what had become of the man. With no livelihood to turn to, what did one do?

They fall to the streets. The reasoning was not hard to follow. With having disgraced his career, Basile could easily see Malo's family tossing him out. Like many others, he would be lost to whatever befell those who wound up in the lower dregs of society.  
Even he could feel a twinge of pity at such bleak prospects.

That pity faded as one of his toes crashed into yet another coblestone on the corridor base. Yet more curses resounded through the hall, and Basile stopped to look at where he had wound up.

A staircase leading downwards loomed before him.

It would only lead him deeper into the depths of this place. But, there is nowhere else I can go. Every other path in that bleak hallway had either lead to a boarded up door, or a dead end.

"What is this place?" Fear had fully entered Basile now. He could recall all of the details of coming to the manor, except for the precious last details of how the night had ended.

Justine had invited him to the manor. It had been in celebration, as she informed Basile that she had finally dismissed Alois as her suitor. A cask of wine had been opened in celebration. He could recall his glee at the thought. That the heiress had chosen him, out of all others.

Wine had been offered, and readily accepted by him. Basile remembered walking to Justine... and nothing else remained.  
And on that thought hung a simple word. WIne. It seemed so simple a realization. He'd been drugged. He'd been right in his assumption from the very beginning. Justine had concocted another. idiotic. game.

The fury and exasperation in Basile was overshadowed by his relief. For if this was a game, then he had nothing to truly fear. All could be now explained.

He reached the bottom of the stairwell, and was presented with a crimson coloured door. As before, the carpenter realized he had nowhere else to go. He opened the door and pressed onwards.

He turned to close the door, and quickly smothered a scream at what he saw there. A man...

No. It was merely a statue. The "man" before stood before him with his head hung low. The stone was carved to make it look as if his hands were bound before him.

What in God's name...? This was morbid even by Justine's standards...

That's assuming this is the Florbelle manor. But, where else? Yet, this was like no place he'd ever seen, in Justine's manor or anywhere else.

The corridor before him was nothing like the cells behind. Lush, green carpet covered the floor, and Basile welcomed it, as was a far cry better than the cobblestones.

The rest of the decor seemed just as luxurious in comparison. Elegantly cushioned couches and towering bookcases lied neatly against the walls. Several doors lay down the hallway, each leading God knows where.

Quietly, he made his way down the hallway. Maybe it was due to his surroundings, but for the first time, Basile felt embarassment course through him at his current undress. It would be just his luck to run into one of Justine's servants down here. Basile flinched as he imagined running into the maid, Clarice and the responding shriek that would be sure to follow. Eyeing the hallway and it's varied doors, he chose a door at random. Opening it slowly, the carpenter peered in.  
He held out the torch and froze.

Soft, ripping noises filled the air. They were slight and delicate sounding, he could almost ignore it.

His eyes bulged.

A short, nude figure was crouched on the floor of the small, lightless room. Dark fluid was spilling out around the figure.

It- The man... He's...

The man was bent over his own left arm. Basile could see the sinews of the man's back stick out, prominent and unsettling. The man had been clearly starved, and his skin was pale and sallow, even in the dim light Basile let in. His ribs stood out like thin bars, highly visible through that ill pallor.

But, the man...

White teeth flashed in the dim light, and Basile stumbled back as he saw them descend to the arm. They slowly closed over the pale flesh, and that ripping noise-so delicate-filled the air once more. Blood flowed out over that pale prominent chin as the figure lifted his head, and pulled the flesh away with it. He-It was smiling.

The limb was littered with previous bites. Red and weeping, like a row of ruptured eyes. A cry pulled forth from Basile. The figure heard, and stopped.

Slowly, so very slowly, the figure rose and turned. Light from the hallway and Basile's torch fell upon the man and illuminated him.

"Malo." Basile rasped.

The musician and the carpenter eyed each other in shock. Blood continued to slide down Malo's lips. Green eyes gained recognition. Then he smiled.

"Basile."

The wad of flesh, still unswallowed, slipped from the man's jaws and hit the floor with a squelch. The need to purge resurfaced, and Basile succumbed to it willingly this time. The nausea hit him harder this time, and he felt his legs give out from beneath him. His torch clattered to the ground and flickered out to fading embers. Luckily, he had nothing to give but a meager few spattered drops of fluid. Peering up quickly, he saw that Malo had not moved or reacted to this at all.

"Basile, Mon ami! " Malo grin widened, but all Basile could see was red-tinted teeth. The fading embers gave them an eerie shine.  
Lucifer has a smile like that.

The redhead threw his arms out at his sides, hands opening in a welcoming gesture. "I've wondered when Justine would invite you."

"What in God's name are you... doing?" Basile managed. He could not take his eyes off the blood coating Malo's jaw.

Malo tilted his head forcefully at the question."...?" Then he laughed. "What a question to ask! We haven't seen each other in forever, and yet this is your concern?" He gestured towards his bloodied chin.

Basile quietly inched backwards.

Malo just watched him wryly. "Ahh... I suppose I can forgive you, Basile. That is what companions are for, no?" He peered around Basile. " I see you are alone as well."

"How... Why are you here? What is this place?"Basile struggled his way to his feet.

The musician made no move towards him, thankfully. Instead he looked around the compact room.

"This is her little Cabinet. Her little project, if you will." Malo regained his lunatic grin, and raised his arms, as if being blessed by some higher power. Basile doubted it was God.

If only he had thought to run at that moment...

"This is...my nirvana, Basile. My hell. Where I have been broken and rebuilt." Green eyes looked to him earnestly. He lowered his arms. "Justine is so much more facinating then we could have ever imagined. Her little games have made me learn such great truths." More teeth began to show in his macabre little expression. " I have given up my profession. Malo the violinist is no more!" Their seemed to be great pride in these words.

He's cracked. Utterly insane. There's nothing left. Basile registered this immediately. He couldn't stay here. One footstep at a time, he began moving himself farther and farther from the maddened musician. He made eye contact with the shorter man, and spoke calmly, smoothly.

"You've given up, eh? That's fine, I suppose." The door was but three more footsteps away. "So what now will you pursue?" Basile barely paid attention to his own words. Malo had started to move forwards, matching his paces backwards.

He knows. Damn it!

" Pursue? Ah... ha ha ha. The only thing truly worth pursuit, is the search for a fine meal." Malo raised his bloodied fingers. " And, I have found it."

Those thin fingers curled and pointed at Basile.  
"Taste, mon ami, is the only thing that matters. You have it," Malo shrugged. " Or you don't."

His grin turned vicious. " But I will know for sure..."

Basile bolted.

Out the door, and down the hall. Laughter hailed after him, echoing in the tiny hall. Footsteps soon followed.

He ran into the next open door available, only to slam it closed and bear his weight against it. Shelves surrounded him, packed with books and documents of all kinds. It was a library by all appearances.

There was no apparent exit.

THUD. Basile's entire form jerked forwards as Malo's frame slamed against the door.

THUD.

Basile braced himself against the door, feeling it shudder with every one of the Malo's blows.

"How are you doing this?" Basile whispered to the air. It seemed impossible that such a small man could have such strength. As if empowered by his very insanity.

THUD. The door was beginning to buckle, and Basile had the sudden image of the door shattering and splinters being wedged into his spine.

He can't let the door go.

THUD.

Can't.

As he guarded the door behind him, Basile looked up and saw a bookcase at the far end of the room.  
A small open space lay between it's base and the floor.  
The bookcase was covering an exit out.

THUD.

Basile's entire frame jerked as he looked down to see one of the hinges hanging off the door. He braced himself against the door and leapt forward...

-/-/-/-/-

Malo giggled as he felt the door give way. It crunched and toppled to the floor in a shower of splinters.

"Baaaaaasillllllllle?" The musician sang each syllable in glee as he skipped through the shattered entrance. Cocking his head to the side, Malo watched as the man was wrenching at the bookcase.

Malo did not make his move just yet, rather, he let his gaze fall to Basile's bare arms. The muscles roiled under his flesh, and Malo was brought back to the ever present need burning in his gut.

Hunger. What a word. What power it held over man!

Delicately, he raised a hand to his lips and began gnawing one of his nails. It did not occur to Malo that his mouth was watering, that his hands were shaking.

Looking over the carpenter, longing for a carnal flavor his own flesh could no longer provide.

Intolérable!

Malo ran forward, his hands seeking Basile's throat.

Instead, he toppled to the floor, missing the brawny carpenter by an inch. The bookcase had been thrown to the floor. Now, a door had been revealed, an exit. Something Malo had never been able to find in his earlier days. Before he had been enlightened by hunger and humanity.

Back when all he had craved was escape and a return home.

But... now was not the time to contemplate such matters. His chosen feast was making his own escape.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Basile could not catch his breath. Panic, exhaustion, and the remnants of wine were clouding his reason. The passageway had only lead to more declining stairs. No miraculous exit, just a path leading deeper into the depths.  
And still, the little bastard was following him.

As he paused for air, he looked around. His journey seemed to have lead him to a dank basement. Each of his breaths were briefly visible before fading into the air. Mist hung around him, and he shuddered at the cold. Fear seemed to hang about in equal amount, as nearby footsteps prompted him to run once more.

Help... me.

"Basile?" Malo's sounded curious, almost innocent. Several wooden posts stood about the room, supporting the ceiling. The carpenter in question seized his chance to hide behind one.

"Mon ami? Come out."

Basile crept around the bearing, straining to see Malo's position. His fingers dug into the pillar behind him, tense. Slowly, he crept to another. His eyes only managed to see the wisps of mist, and boxes tucked in distant corners.Small dark mounds surrounded some boxes in one of the many dark corners. Rocks? No... potatoes?

A puff of hot air grazed his neck.

"Bonjour." Malo giggled.

Basile whirled around just as the shorter man lunged. They toppled and Basile grunted as Malo's weight slammed into him.

Not that there was much left, but still...

Malo squirmed over him, seeking to gain the upper hand. Basile felt his left shoulder seized, as he tried to deck the musician across the face. Only to have his wrist seized.

For several moments, both men struggled, both straining against one another. Wet drops hit Basile's chest. and he looked upwards.

Saliva was dripping down Malo's chin as the musician licked his lips.

"You fuck..." Basile hissed. " We're surrounded by FOOD!"

Malo merely chuckled, his gaze on the sinews of Basile's arm.

"I haven't the appetite for THAT." he sneered. He released Basile's straining arm... and clamped his teeth into it.

Basile's howl resonated through the damp space.

Beyond fury, the carpenter heaved forwards and threw the thin cannibal off of him. He struggled to his feet. He looked to Malo and froze.

He was sitting on his knees, licking the blood off his fingers. Slowly, he looked up at Basile... and smirked.

Then he lurched for Basile's ankle.

Without a word, Basile turned on his heels and ran. Unashamed by any assumption of cowardice, he ran. Grasping along the walls, he sought a door. The relentless patter of his pursuer's tread drove him forward.

Have to get out.

Have to get out now.

Where is the damned exit? There must be an exit!

"Ahehehehahahaahhhhhhahhhhahaha" Malo wasn't hard to make out, his laughter only inches away.

Basile came upon a dark corridor, which he readily ran down. A door lay at the end....

He reached for the doorknob...

"Not fast enough!" Malo sang as he dove for Basile. The latch had been unhooked and the door was force open with their combined weight. Basile seized Malo's arm and hurled him to the ground.

"Bastard..."Basile breathed. He pulled the man up, and forced Malo to the wall, his forearm to his throat. " You insane bastard." Already, Malo was attempting to tilt his head and lick at his wrist.

"Just once more? Another taste?" Malo querried."

Basile wordlessly curled his fist and slammed his knuckles into Malo's soft gut. The man easily fell to his knees with a huff of air.

The door lay between them. Malo in one section, Basile in his.

The carpenter backed away from the man. And shut the door.

"No? Not a single bite?" Malo gasped from the floor, a single hand on his bruised abdomen.

Shifting noises were his only response.

Gingerly, Malo rose from the floor.

"So cruel, Basile. To keep such tender fare to yourself!

More noises in response.

"Mon ami?" Malo pressed his weight against the door. It did not give an inch.

Basile had made good use of the boxes.

Malo laughed to himself, in good natured acceptance.

"That's alright. Another chance will come, I suppose."

No response.

"We'll dine together another time!"

Footsteps could be heard, growing distant as the minutes passed.

Malo turned his back to the door, and leaned against it. He licked his lips, savoring the flavor he so luckily found.

"We have so much time now. All the time in the world to savor every minute together."

Nothing.

Malo looked at his bloodied fingers and rose them to his mouth.

"I'll taste you again... "

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT- Upon reviewing this story, I realize I did not give nearly enough warnings in the tags for those that may read this. I apologize, I was new to the site, but that is no excuse. I've edited the tags now, and if any still wish to read it, I hope that they enjoy the story even if it is very graphic.
> 
> Thank you!


End file.
